Perdition
by LMEevaYlainen
Summary: ...
1. Perdition in Reverie

Perdition in Reverie

Light refracted through the arcing water and was effortlessly pulled apart into bands of colour that flowed seamlessly, one to the other... as it always did. That's a law of nature. There I sat, effortlessly pulling apart the problems arcing through my head that flowed seamlessly back into a collective... as they always did. I was practically a law of nature, sitting there on the bench I always sat on. I find it hard to remember why I would sit on that bench, staring into the fountain and revelling in my own misfortune. I suppose it's human nature; our own problems set us apart from others and make us feel unique. It's almost as if we feel accomplished for surviving or even just dealing with trivialities. Now that I think about it, it is. When we meet a deadline, overcome a family crisis or just make it out in one piece we put it under our respective belts and call it 'closure'. It's such a vague and subjective word, closure. When you close a door, or bury a loved one, you call it closure because the door is firmly shut and the loved one is laid to rest. What about if you open a door so that you know you aren't trapped. Aren't you opening a door to achieve certainty that you can get out? When you lay a loved one to rest, they may be underground and out of the way but they still pervade your conscious train of thought like a bad smell.

Thoughts like those are the sort that trouble me, sitting in the park and staring into, beyond, the liquid spectrum gurgling out into the air. People walk by and pay little attention to the thinking pool that stands so obstructively in the middle of the path. Children staring at the balloons in their hands, businessmen taking a short-cut through the park and the occasional dog marking it as its territory. I suppose everyone finds their own outlet in the world. Me? I stepped out of my apartment each morning, scowling at the Sun as a child scowls at a strict parent with unaffected scorn. I'd cross the road with eyes fixed on the floor and nudge open the gate into the park. I'd try to look reserved and take confined steps towards the center of the park as if I wasn't in any sort of hurry. I often was, the thoughts and queries brought up by the sleepless night before as I lay in bed would be pressing against my skull, testing my head to breaking point. One weak spot and my thoughts would burst from my head and scatter all over the floor, leaving me scrabbling in the dirt for any hope of recollection before they sank into the soft earth. And so I'd calmly find my way to my bench, slipping into the curvature of the smooth, black iron and letting my gaze drop to the point where the spectra danced in my eyes.

Light, as I said, is filtered for me. It's lifted from the world and spiralled into the air until even the sky turns a dull brown. I both love and loathe the glasses that so easily steal away color from my world. With the spectra of the fountain reduced to nothing but a mere seven shades of monotony I could respect the little insight they gave me. Being human I always wondered how much a little peek would really hurt. Just one little peek could augment my pseudo-spectrum, allowing me to capture it and let the colors dance about the confines of my memories. They would no doubt fizzle out like a sparkler at a bonfire, tempting me to take another peek. And another, and another until eventually my eyes would be burnt by the dazzling light of my own weakness. A one way ticket to perdition was the last thing I needed in my state.

So as the light refracted through the arcing water, as it always did. And I sat staring into it and cursing its tempting invitation, as I always did, I was completely unaware. This particular day was the point at which there was a change. I'd sat on my bench every day for years and not once had anyone questioned me, directly or otherwise.

Staring through the water, his eyes were distant yet they were firmly locked on my own. His retinas reflected the light back towards me in miniature pinpricks through the grand, brown flow of water. He was deep in a reverie for a long time as I watched him intently, not particularly worried about my manners since he was mentally so far away. I found it hard to believe that he could possibly be using my reminiscent vent as his own. It was almost an invasion of private space. I felt protective of the fountain and its ornate carvings, perhaps even envious of his ability to use it with the sort of respect I did. As I fell into my own speculation his eyes snapped back to the world of the living like a diver coming up for air. He now looked at me rather than through me, smiling fondly before making his excuses and looking to the water. It glistened in its drained, brown form all around the spot I focused on. I was staring at him through two filters now, and he was hard to make out. His hair was long, and hadn't been washed for a while since it hung, looking almost wet, about his face. Like the water glistening in my periphery, an odd woman stared intently into his to the point where he lost his nerve and looked up again, appearing almost exasperated, before dropping his head once more to look at the floor between his legs. And so the contest went on for a few minutes longer, the weight of my stare seemingly holding back his own until I involuntarily relented and his gaze snapped back to me. Now it was my turn to look at the floor for fear of interrupting his scrutiny. I dared to look back up after what felt like an age to see his bench empty. Somehow enticed by the odd ritual of exchanging unwanted stares, I cast about for him only to see his back half disappearing into hedge tunnel that led off from the fountain's clearing.

Standing was a chore that sent my head spinning as the floor turned momentarily to a wall and only gravity kept me standing against my natural reaction to fall sideways. I hurried off, rather idiotically, before my vision had a chance to settle, sending me swaying in the general direction of the tunnel's entrance. The entrance consisted of a hedge built around a protruding frame, inviting in the unwary wanderer to lose themselves in its depths. I hurried into its awaiting maw, perfectly unaware as I wandered down its long opening towards said depths. The first turn thrust me into maze walled with hedges at least three times as tall as me, the ambience of the park vanishing and being replaced by a heavy, silent blanket as the sound of squealing children was snuffed out. Were I claustrophobic in any real sense I would no doubt have suffered an anxiety attack, the possibilities of encroaching danger building up until I'd break down there and then and lose the stranger I so oddly pursued.

I felt a little less certain of my immunity to claustrophobia as I hugged the wall, the occasional glimpse of the stranger's shoes reassured me that I was on the right track. The lackluster chase that ensued went on for a while as I tailed the mysterious thinker without even thinking myself. I began to feel cold as I lost sight of him, a strange wind howling through the leaves, tempting me to look up and no doubt stray from his trail. The air turned colder and colder as it clung persistently to my jacket and caused me to quicken my pace in an effort to keep warm and stay close to the stranger. I never even thought twice about following an oddity I didn't even know into an unseasonably cold maze and getting worked up about what seemed at the time to be a passing fancy. Getting anxious was an ugly circle in my life, since worrying about anxiety simply made me more anxious. Therefore, I tried to avoid it and simply focus on the task at hand. I'm not sure if, now, looking back, I'm happy that I did follow him. I can't tell if things worked out well but I know that since the moment I stepped into the center of that maze and saw him standing in the shelter of the stunted pagoda and staring in wonder at the air, things haven't been the same. The sun had faded completely from sight, instead a dense fog had crept in through the walls and now coated the clearing with a thick haze. The stranger's figure was darkened through the dull brown curtain and was set dancing by the lights that hung on the pagoda's wall. I stepped somewhat cautiously towards him, unable to tell whether or not he was still looking up or knew where I was and already intended to leave.

My first tentative steps onto the wooden planks of the pagoda were largely audible as the boards creaked and strained under my feet. He didn't seem alarmed, he simply glanced sidelong at me and smiled out into fog, leaving me questioning if the smile was directed at me or not. Since he had yet to flee the scene in a comic flurry of dust I assumed he didn't mind my presence and so walked to stand beside him. Looking up at him I now saw that he was wearing a hoodie and faded jeans, unlaced shoes kicking absently against the supports of the railing he leant against. Standing straight I barely reached to the bottom of his chest while he stood seemingly doubled over the railing and peering out from the shelter. I attempted subtlety as I looked sidelong at his face. The encased torches flickered shadows off and on his semi-shaven face as his eyes grew distant again. I looked back out into the unnatural fog and allowed my own eyes to grow distant as I pondered how the weather could be s- "Weird weather, huh," came a husky remark from my right. "Sort of thing I'd expect to see at the witching hour, y'know?" I was slightly taken aback. It's not in my nature to talk with anyone other than my few close friends or to simply be polite so I was surprised when I felt compelled to answer him:

"Do you believe in that kind of stuff?" My voice didn't travel particularly far and I'm sure any quieter would have been difficult for him to hear. The fog almost gave off the impression of expected silence, as if I was suddenly in a place that demanded high respect.

"Hell no. Should I? It's a waste of time. If you enjoy it, fine, be my guest. Otherwise, don't come preaching to me," came his self-assured response. I couldn't help but nod; the groups of preachers found anywhere at any time get under my skin. I found them to be more of a breach of personal space than the stranger's peering into my fountain. "Why did you follow me?" The sudden question carried an undeniable tone of suspicion, possibly even worry or anxiety. I turned my head and only now asked myself the same question. Why did I follow him? I opened my mouth, about to confess to my own stupidity when a noise from the back of the pagoda had us both swivelling on the spot. We both looked towards the back of the pagoda, a figure now standing in a position that looked particularly uncomfortable. Its gait was unnatural, almost like a doll would walk, were its legs turned in on themselves by a sadistic child. Looking back we both ought to have been alarmed by the nature of its appearance as a mere darkened shape. It wasn't until it moved with a muffled, grating crack into the light that we both took in its appearance. It stood, legs apart with feet pigeon-toed and its body contorted in a way I wouldn't have thought possible before that moment. The body appeared mostly human, save for another deformed body attached to its back like a particularly unlucky Siamese twin. Its limbs flailed around, a muffled yet constant stream of shouting came from the writhing passenger on the deformed creature's back. I'm afraid I can't really explain that one to you in any greater detail. I know, sorry, don't pull that face. I passed out almost as soon as the thing stepped out, leaving the stranger to fend for himself as my vision faded before I hit the floor. The last I remember is the gurgling of the fountain, possibly the thing, as I fell to the ground, and through it.


	2. Perdition in Enlightenment

**Perdition in Enlightenment**

Sleep was something that eluded me while tired and attacked me while wide awake. Emotions that stimulate us; anger, surprise, fear, happiness... they all put me to sleep. I'm like the reflection you see in the mirror. Like you, but backwards. When I can get it, sleep is the best thing that's ever happened to me - waking up is the worst. Floating beneath the surface in a sea of your own thought processes is calm, peaceful and efficient. Nightmares happen, of course but they're efficient, are they not? A person waking up from a nightmare is a distinctly more humble one, even if just for a moment. After that moment it's clear it was just a nightmare; a figment of our troubled mind putting things into order. We see that we're safe, in our own bed. There's nothing to fear. But we always hesitate. It's almost as if going back to sleep now is willingly going back to the nightmare world. But what about if you wake up into a nightmare world? What then? Do you go back to sleep to reach the safety of your dreams? I wished I could. But I awoke on a thin blanket under a cracked roof, wishing I was anywhere but there.

My sleep was plagued by the mental recollection of what I'd seen. I had no idea. But that was just it. The basic irrational fear of the unknown sent my usually dormant mind into spasms. If we hear a bump in the night we imagine the worst. It could be any nature of threat, we just don't know. And that drives us crazy. Is it burglars? Ghosts? Worse? We turn over what it could be, what it could want. We never change the bump, though. We heard it and it's a fact. We know there was a bump and we know it shouldn't have happened. If we put a face to that bump we relax. They could be holding a gun but we know what they are. We know what will happen if they pull the trigger and we know, to a degree, how to react. I, however, knew nothing. If I had seen anything important it was gone. I remembered being afraid and the fear disabled me. I hadn't been that scared in a long time and that was for a reason. I'd learnt the world and grown bored of it. I knew what would happen if I took any sort of action and I knew how to react. I went to my fountain to escape that and to try to free myself from monotony. Now I knew nothing. There was no clue as to what was happening or was going to happen and I didn't know how to react.

The room was red. Bare, chipped plaster was all that clung to the walls. It wasn't painted, the red color was being pulled from elsewhere by the wall. It hung heavy in the air and dulled out color until only red and black remained, the light stolen from their objects and thrown against the walls. It was hard to focus my eyes on the plaster cage: invisible strings pulled at the sides of my eyes, pulling apart the fragments of my vision and forcing my eyes closed again. As I lay there, a faint sound began to pervade my interest, pulling my attention away from the colors dancing behind my eyelids and gradually becoming prevalent. The colors were swiped from my sight as I lifted my head awkwardly from the ground I lay on and stared towards its source. A bucket lay beyond yet between my feet, from that bucket came a persistent hissing noise. I let my head fall back with a twinge of pain, sighing briefly before lifting myself into a sitting position as my causal neck gave another accusing outburst of pain. My hands rested on my knees while my eyes examined the bucket. A deep, gentle yet powerful red glowed and bathed the walls with the same smothering light. The hissing and color of the light led me to believe the bucket was filled with molten metal. There was no other possibility - it was burning through the metal and would soon seep out onto the floor. I'd never seen anything molten before, it was a new experience. I sat up eagerly, kneeling and placing my hands either side of the bucket. Nothing, it wasn't even warm, quite the opposite in fact. I assumed it was a particularly good make of bucket, thinking nothing more of it and using my grip to slide it towards myself. The rim of the bucket fell below my eye line to the point where I could see into it, and instantly regret it. My vision was filled with an agonizing red, letting me know far too late that I was missing my glasses. The light sped into my eyes, spiralling about the inside of my head like millions of trapped hornets. They flew up into my brain, each pain-ridden inch turning to flames and leaving a smoking trail in their path. They made it to my brain and pulled it in every other direction, tearing at it and pulling off a piece to call their own. That left me with nothing to do but bend over double, throwing the bucket back on reflex and wrapping my arms around my head. I'd thrown the molten metal all over the floor but I couldn't help my falling to it. Some small amount of pain was dragged from my head by my contorted legs and chest as I waited for the pain to subside... it didn't come close to helping. It was only a few seconds and it didn't feel like any longer but it was enough – pain like that only needs a few seconds.

It was as the red glare faded that the pain began to subside and my tensed muscles relaxed. I sat up, head spinning as if waking up from a good night's sleep. My pockets produced the two cases that housed my glasses. Without either pair I was at a great disadvantage; vision either blinded me or escaped me and I often had to choose between the two. It seemed the choice was made up for me as the pseudo-sunglasses were nowhere to be found in either case. Reluctance accompanied the replacing of the case in my pocket and the removal of my clear glasses from their warm, cushioned case. My vision cleared as much as it could in the unpleasantly familiar glow that filled the room. I'd never been expecting to be burnt by the molten metal since it now sat further away, my side of the room now considerably darker in comparison. It flickered around the higher edges of my vision, taunting me and tempting me to look up. Why hadn't it burnt me yet? I wanted to know but at the same time never could, not by myself. It called out to me and mocked me, the loss of my glasses irritating me further until I revived my own voice. "Hitto!" I shouted, my voice uncomfortably loud in the oppressive room.

"Something wrong?" Came a male voice, low and almost seeming to blend with the oppressive nature of the room. He sounded wary, but not so much as I was highly strung. I jumped at the injection of his voice into the small room and fell back against a strategically placed locker, peering towards him as I tried my utmost to remove the red glow from my view. It was the stranger from the park, the buttons of his jacket shining red in the contemptuous light. His lower body was cut off by a desk built into the wall that stopped and abruptly started again closer to the roof. He nodded almost imperceptibly before fixing his gaze on the metal that was no doubt now oozing along the floor. His eyes jumped between my own eyes and the light before he disappeared from view, only to reappear again a moment later via a door that hung desperately by its last hinge. He walked towards the light, out of my sight, a metallic rattling emanating from its side of the room before it dimmed again. Had he picked it up with his bare hands? How brave of him.

"How did that happen?" He asked, apparently to himself. A low scraping sound followed the intensifying of the light which no doubt flew at my eyes a moment before my arms were thrown up to cover them. I let my legs slowly slide out before me, arms fixed against the hornets that buzzed against them until I found myself sitting. My knees nudged my glasses up to my forehead and into my hair as I pressed my eyes into the welcoming darkness of denim. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? I couldn't catch you when you fell, I made sure you we-"

"The light." I'd surely used up my quota for words spoken to others today. Without even a question, however, the scornful light was dimmed, the hissing growing somewhat distant. I hesitantly lifted my head from my knees and peered through squinted eyes in his direction. My glasses fell from their temporary roost and landed uncomfortably on the end of my nose. The bucket was now turned over to face him, light shooting out in a triangular pattern. Surely the molten metal was crawling towards him, sat so carelessly in its path? The blurry red glow that was my stranger was clarified as the lenses slid into place before my eyes. Shadows were cast over his face, the devious light trying its utmost to override his demeanor. The faint hint of a smile pointed towards an entirely different type of nature to the one suggested by the light. Smiles are awkward to read to their fullest extent but it's simple to tell if they are genuine. A faint yet visible smile shows a genuine sort of character. Eyes are more important in smiles than the mouth itself, though. A faint smile will stand out awfully when put next to a liar's eyes. His was genuine. "Thank you. For rescuing me, I mean."

"Don't mention it," he waved a dismissive hand which he then reached up behind him to something that now lay on the reception desk. "Not like I had a choice anyway. Do you do that often?" He pulled down a bag with a loud thump. He began routing through its contents, pulling out each object and setting it neatly on the ground between his outstretched legs. It was after a few seconds of my silence that he looked up, his features exaggerated by the monochromatic light. I'd been staring at his hands as he sorted through the bag, forgetting all about his question. "Fainting? Like that? Do you do it often?" His query hung in the air for a second, his questioning features unchanging until I looked up, 'startled' no doubt written across my forehead.

"No... well. It depends." It was always awkward explaining my condition. It's the sort of explanation that requires thought, so as not to appear self-pitying or pity-seeking.

"Depends how?"

"...I'm Narcoleptic."

"Ah, whatever. You have to actually weigh something to be any sort of liability anyway." I don't think it was intended as any sort of compliment as such. Being in shape wasn't exactly at the top of my list of priorities anyway. By now he was busy pulling more objects out of the bag, talking to the floor rather than me. "Sucks, though. I've got a relative with that. Not as bad as you. Never totally lost it like that." A short sound, intended to be a laugh, escaped from my mouth. He looked up at me with an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry," he probably took my 'laugh' as annoyance. I didn't know how to tell him otherwise. "So what's with the light thing? You a vampire or something?" I shook my head and smiled wistfully.

"No. I can't look at light without my glasses." Only then did it occur to me to ask: "when I fell... was I wearing a pair of brown glasses?"

"You mean those you were wearing on the bench? Nope. You came into the garden without them on. Don't think you were carrying anything either," I was surprised by how observant he was. "Sorry, was that important?"

"Ei, it's fine. I c-" he looked up at me, a sharp focus in his face told me he was concentrating on something. "What? What is it?" His expression changed as his consciousness flowed back into him, changed to a look that spoke volumes. He may as well have put a finger to his lips or a hand over mine. He reached into the bag and pulled out a small bottle, spilling it out into the bucket and then looking at me and gesturing towards the wall. I turned my head away and closed my eyes, the sizzling now dying out completely. I reopened my eyes to pleasant darkness, my senses heightened considerably as we each sat staring at, yet beyond, the other. Footsteps were the first I heard. They sounded wet as if something were being spattered across the floor with each step. They were distant, very distant, hanging on the edge of my hearing range like a car teetering on a cliff. They occasionally died down, only to fade back in again slightly louder. The sound of footsteps was accompanied by the creaking of doors and a low, constant muttering. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, seven shades of blue now coloring the room and the stranger's hunched body as he re-packed the bag. His eyes caught mine as he stopped listening and motioned me towards him. I crept as silently as I could while my feet threatened to slide from under me on the slippery material of my makeshift mattress. On reaching him I pressed myself against the reception desk and looked questioningly at him. He made to open his mouth but suddenly closed it again, another set of footsteps now making themselves heard, this time much louder, closer. These footsteps were greeted by another, more distant pair. Another followed, and another, until the sound of sodden footsteps and deranged mumbling thoroughly occupied the air. Alarm was strikingly obvious on his face, and no doubt mine as the sound of my beating heart threatened to drown out the footsteps. I felt faint, my ears ringing as the fear began to threaten knocking me out. "I need to get out of here" I whispered earnestly, the stranger nodding before the end of my sentence and tilting his head towards the door. I turned, sidling up to the open door before turning and seeing a brief flash of metal as he pulled something from his bag.

The rucksack was slung almost silently over his shoulder, a brief check over everything and he was creeping towards me. He slunk out around the doorway and froze, all footsteps in the building stopping at exactly the same time. He spun on the spot without a moment's hesitation, standing up at the same time and dragging my hand with him, wrenching me to my feet and running out into the hallway. His long strides were almost impossible for me to keep up with as I moved my legs furiously, practically floating as his feet slapped against the tiled floor. The footsteps had stopped and I heard nothing as we passed endless crossroads in the halls. Darkness hung heavy down the hall in every direction and each turning we passed. We ran straight, straight into a door of which he slammed the fire exit bar. The brief pause showed the extent to which my vision was blurred, the second's delay as it caught up to my position and settled into one image. Then the door was open and my head was spinning again, my feet flying three stairs at a time, barely touching the stone as he dragged me down a staircase. The turn had us both bashing into the wall and then off it, down another flight of stairs as the mumbling was on us, faster, muffled. The indistinguishable words now hurrying their way from the stairs we'd just descended. They rounded the turn, flew down the stairs accompanied by only our footsteps and panting, none of their own. A door flew open, dim light flying into the fire exit as my arm was wrenched out around it. Though dim and painless, the light was enough to startle me as I heard a loud clang and the door was closed, a lever snapped from it by his hand. He stepped back from the door, going into a stance I'd seen only in action movies as he pointed the gun he'd previously pulled from the bag towards the door. The metal suddenly bulged outwards like a tin can with its contents exploded, the stranger taking a step back and readying the gun. A horde of agitated screams forced their way out around the doorway, their pitch rising and falling as my hands flew up to cover my ears, a distinctly visible flinch passing through the stranger's body. The scream was passed on and taken up throughout the entire building before dying down, muttering now taking their place once more, fading out of my senses and back into the darkness. Only a misshapen door remained in their wake.

I breathed out, my head spinning now as my ears rang and my balance was swiped from me. I fell, catching myself on a stone wall set in the ground around where we stood as I shakily caught my breath. The stranger lowered the gun and sat down beside me, resting his hands on either side of his head and running his fingers through his hair. And there we both sat for a long time, both silently sharing the same experience through aching limbs and shattered nerves. There we both sat, breathing heavily, no idea what was happening. And no idea how to react.


	3. Perdition in Judgement

**Perdition in Judgement**

There's a certain look in your eyes that has been nagging me for the past few minutes. I stop speaking and look at you, your eyes quickly dropping to the chair I sit on. All of a sudden you seem far more interested in my trainers than the story trying to force its way through my pursed lips. Eventually you lift your head again and catch my eye for a moment, prompting me to speak up before you drift away again. "Something wrong?" You shake your head, your eyes distant and your teeth absently scraping along the skin of your finger. I reach out, taking your hand from your mouth and smiling calmly before sitting back again and sighing. "What did I tell you about that?" Your eyes drop to my trainers again, mine drift over to the two levers that sit in the wall beside us. You look pensive, almost wistful. "Mmm.. what was I talking about?" Of course I know exactly the word I'd stopped on but I'm hoping for you to at least say something to me. I stare at your distracted eyes for a few seconds more as I try to glean any sort of hint as to what's troubling you. Nothing but nothing but nothing. I sigh again, exaggeratedly, falling back into the welcoming chaise longue and making a real show of stretching and resting my eyes. Naturally, I only intend to rest my eyes.

I wake up to a much darker room, my vision filled with your darkened face as you stare intently at my pseudo-sleeping face. "Mitä?" I mumble, conscious of my own slurred voice. You jump, settling back into your chair and looking convincingly disinterested. Were it not for the fact I just saw you watching me, I would believe it. "What's the matter? If there's something that's bothering you just come out with it now. I'm not carrying on until you tell me." I swing my legs around to sit on the edge of the chair, your head lifting with a great effort to look, finally, straight into my eyes as you earnestly tell me what you're thinking. You think I'm crazy. My talking about what happened in Alchemilla has you worried. Not only do you think I'm hallucinating, you think you know why. I've been under a lot of stress lately and my condition just reacted badly to it. I brush a stray strand of hair out of my eye and fix you with a calm gaze. "I think you're crazy," I'm trying to appear as composed as possible. The guys in the white coats could come bursting in through the door at any minute, were they to exist. You looked away first. I won. "Do you want me to carry on or not?" You gesture with your hand, the selfsame worry settling itself deep into your frown lines. "Are you sitting comfortably?" A quick glance at me and your eyes fall back to my trainers. "Then I'll begin."

I wouldn't class you as the type to be interested in religion. You're all science, really. For you it's all about facts and evidence. Since you don't have any facts or evidence in your hands, your logic tells you that none of it can exist. I was the same, yet completely different. See, it takes a certain sort of person to really be understanding about that sort of thing. We go about our daily lives, cursing the world when we drop a book into a puddle or someone steals our taxi. We wonder how a God could possibly exist when such _awful, awful_ tragedies are allowed to befall us. I suppose you could call it ignorance, or maybe laziness. We'll willingly accept how small we are and end up a Nihilist but we find it so hard to imagine something as big as God really existing. We have no proof, therefore it doesn't exist. You accept that the other side of the world exists because you're presented with evidence: videos, pictures and any scrap of culture that is apparently from some other country. I'm not criticizing you. Well, I am. Only I'm criticizing myself too. I was the type to laugh at the preaching fanatics on street corners and the bothersome preachers that turned up on my doorstep and tried to persuade me out of my ways. I still am, actually. A veritable change has come over me since I last talked to you, however. The empty space in me that I filled with self-belief and passive arrogance left much to be desired. I wasn't content, had no meaning or no motivation. Sure, I had a job but really that simply provides an excuse. There's a certain sort of rebuke we have for those without enthusiasm or a purpose. I had neither. I'd gotten bored and had come to be a very judgemental person. I'd sit on my bench and be a personality critic. That person was snotty, aggressive, rude or arrogant. I'd be able to tell through sheer experience. Clothes and body language say a lot about a person. Though you should know, being a psychiatrist. But the change happened while I was in that town. I think it was planned to happen quite early on but I was blind to the message thrown in my face on a neon sign. Their first efforts were effective, no doubt. Something was planted in me and it grew and grew inside of me until I became who you see me as now. I still don't believe in your God, the one you pray to when you want something but otherwise ignore. I still despise street corner preachers and would be irritated by Jehovah's Witnesses if I had a front door for them to dirty. Sorry, I'm not meant to sway your decision, only tell the facts... give evidence.

It had only been a few minutes since we'd left Alchemilla. Though my stranger seemed to be coping well, I was still in shock. Through the few words exchanged between us, I learned that what we had been chased by was "of some sort of supernatural origin," to which I answered only with a blank look. I certainly didn't believe him but I had very little else in the way of an explanation. I'd never heard a human make the sorts of noises they did. On top of that, the town seemed to exude a certain sort of supernatural aura of its own, regardless of its inhabitants. I was a sceptical person, though. Rather than cause an argument or make him feel foolish, I said nothing.

The hospital, Alchemilla, was apparently converted into a mental asylum after a period of time functioning as a normal hospital. Patients came and went until a disaster happened and it shut down. It reopened not long ago as an asylum but seemed to have lost that purpose too. Either that or the patients walked the corridors. I didn't really care so long as we were out, so took the stranger's trivia as the truth. We walked together, his stride considerably shortened to make up for my stature. I stared at the floor, attempting to shut out the dim light that seeped into my eyes and as a result, unintentionally appearing antisocial. The stranger repeatedly attempted to engage in conversation but I just wasn't in the mood. He was rustling what sounded like a large piece of paper. The fog was oppressive and pushed in any and all noise we made. It felt as if we were carrying our own bubble of air with us as we walked. It was easy to see for a few inches before reaching the fog's borders. Everything after that became increasingly hazy and eventually faded into an enveloping grey. We were considerably safer in our portable bubble and, were it not for the awkward lack of communication between us, I would have been standing closer to the stranger. Over time my eyes began to complain less, the light becoming less bothersome. It was getting darker. "It's getting darker," came the echo of my own mind from my side. Startled, I looked up to the sky, then to the stranger.

"You're right," came out rather more hoarse than I'd intended.

"We should get inside. This isn't the place to be at night time." I looked around hesitantly, inside which he found something amusing, and laughed. "Yeah. Not right now, we still have a little while. C'mon, this way." He looked at the piece of paper, which I guessed was a map, one last time before folding it up and putting it back into his bag. A crossroads stood before us as he stopped to steady his bag and slide the map in. It was absolutely full, though I had no idea what of. That done, he nodded towards the left turn and walked away at his natural pace. I walked after him in long strides, occasionally breaking into a self-conscious run whenever I fell behind. We rounded corners and cut through alleys, followed main roads like rivers in the mountains and passed obscured side streets. Eventually we came to an abrupt end in the road. The tarmac was cracked long before the severance of the road, at which point it simply stopped.

The open air stood between two sheer rock faces, the other side barely visible through the haze. The stranger walked towards the trench in the ground and leaned against a building at its side, stretching out his neck to see along the line with his hands firmly planted on the wall. Naturally, my curiosity was aroused, and I stepped forwards. I planted my foot on the edge of the chasm and peered around the buildings whose revealed interiors bled out into the air. The precipice went on as far as my blurred and suppressed vision could see; it was sheer and endless.

I leaned out further in an effort to see around a piece debris that clung fruitlessly to an outcrop in the crumbling building. As I did so, I passed the point where my feet could manage to hold me up, and slipped. I let out an undignified yelp as I felt my top half lean past the reach of my lower half and begin its fall into the open air. My hands flailed, as they do in a state of helplessness, in the air before my head, only to be grabbed unceremoniously and yanked from it by a pair of large hands. I felt the cracked tarmac under my feet crumble away just as the stranger pulled on my wrists with an overwhelming force. I then fell forwards, my feet barely remaining on the edge of the crumbling crevasse as my top half fell back around and into the chest of the stranger. The tarmac beneath the stranger's feet was now giving way as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. Seeing this, I tried to remove my hands from his grip to push him backwards but, failing that, simply threw myself at him. We both fell backwards as a result of his own overcompensation and my effort to move him. We fell sidelong into the safety of the street and were only stopped when he hit a wall, and I hit his chest once more. It all happened in less than a few seconds but we stood there for many more, afraid to move should the ground have another attempt at our lives. I regained my breath, opening my eyes and only then seeing the compromising position we stood in. I threw myself back on an impulse, redirecting myself away from the edge at the last minute and stammering out a rushed apology. A grin had spread its way across his lips and stuck there. He stood somewhere in the course of my apology and his regaining of composure, gesturing with his hands and shaking his head. "Forget it, it's fine. I hardly noticed, honestly. Stop apologizing. It's fine. Look, it's fine. Seriously, stop." The last repetition sounded mildly irritated, so I did as I was told and stopped. The thought to apologise for apologizing crossed my mind but I ignored it. He gestured again, this time to an alleyway that was barely visible in the darkened fog. The light was failing, turning our surroundings darker by the second and turning the fog itself invisible. Now it just looked like darkness with substance.

And so we set off again, my head turning the possibility of a bottomless pit around and around, trying to find a side of it that made sense and finding none. I had little brain power spared for thinking it through as we hurried, faster and faster, towards a destination I hoped we had. Eventually it became too dark to see, forcing the stranger to light a flare. He urged me to "look away or cover your eyes or something" before the world was lit up with the same monochromatic light that sat in the bucket in Alchemilla. I walked with my head fixed firmly on the ground as the parasites that hissed from the flare tried to work their way back into my head again. It was difficult to walk in that manner but I managed, refusing many an offered hand along the way.

I was well into my stride and ready to walk forever when the stranger stopped, turning to grab me and stop me in my tracks. Doing so brought the flare right under my nose and turned the world white. Pain flared up again, spreading like wild fire through my head as the parasites happily forced their way behind my eyes. I can't recreate the manner of noise I make without you actually doing that to me, which I don't advise in your situation. Just know that it hurts, more than I can manage to explain to someone like you. Needless to say, I was disabled as a multitude of unearthly noises sprung up both near and far away. I paid little attention to them, only barely noticing as I was lifted from my curled position on the floor and carried out of the cold air. I heard a door shut and something slide into place as a series of metallic clangs sounded out, sharply defined and forceful. They faded away to leave only a strange, scared whimpering sound. I made sure it wasn't me making the noise as the red light faded and I re-opened my eyes to the stranger's concerned face. His eyes poured out a million apologies while a finger on his lips kept them in. He gestured down the hallway and apologetically pulled me to my feet. I swayed, his hands resting on my waist as he held me steady. I frowned and pushed away his hands, unsure what to be angry about, or whether to be angry at all. A look towards where he had gestured showed a long corridor that ended in a strange light and a glass box, in which sat the source of the whimpering.

I'd regained my balance and we both now walked down the hallway. It was upholstered with an expensive-looking red material, display lights protruding from the walls and bending down to illuminate their own supports. I would have mistaken it for a museum or an art gallery, and would probably not have been mistaken at all. The "exhibits", so to speak, contained something I'd hope never to see in a museum. The first enclosure held a woman, hanged haphazardly from the ceiling by a makeshift noose. A chair was kicked out from below her feet. She still swung steadily as if she had only just fallen, a perfect arc giving the dead woman's decaying corpse a sick sort of grace. She was in what looked like a living room of a typical house. Pictures lined the walls and cabinets, all pictures including her and what I suspected to be her family. A grown man, herself, a little girl and another person were present in them all, occasionally with the addition of a pet. What struck me was that the last person's face was missing in each of the pictures. In some, it was scribbled out, others cut out and in some simply torn from the paper altogether. The woman's hand held a photograph and a thick black marker, even after death. Though it was naturally disturbing to see a woman hanged in such a way, her expression was the most unsettling. She stared an empty stare, full of accusation, towards a portrait that displayed what I guessed to be the faceless individual. I guessed it to be a graduation photo, a smile and mortarboard to match shone out from the arrogant expression that the man held. The more I studied the woman's face, the greater the sense of grief and accusation I got from the condemning woman who stared towards the picture. It was a sort of reluctant hatred. Like one mistreated by a loved one too endeared to be willingly angry at. I turned away, my eyes the last to leave the scene as I moved on, this time crossing the corridor and the path of the stranger to peer into another enclosure.

This display showed an apartment that had been ransacked. A huge array of equipment, papers, electronics and other objects lay scatted before opened draws. A bed lay in the corner, under an open window, on which lay a naked woman. She lay on brown covers, stained by the crust of her own blood that coated her hands, chin and stomach. Her abdomen lay open, a vicious gash leaving her skin clinging haphazardly to her darkened insides from which rose a mess of red, tubular tissue that stretched up into her open palms. She held them in her hands, staring through bruised eyes at her own insides that hung loosely from her fingers. Strands of tissue fell from her fingers and dressed her bloodied sides in grotesque ribbons. On her face was a look of shock and surprise that hinted at a similarly condemning betrayal and pain. I felt my gorge rise as I turned away, feeling almost forced to make my way to the next display with my hand held firmly over my mouth. The stranger walked with me now, as curious and hopefully repulsed as I as he came to stand behind me.

In this enclosure there sat a man, kneeling over what I guessed to be a woman since I could only see a pair of feminine legs. The man had her blood on his hands. His face was distraught, tears pouring from his helpless eyes. They were both dead in reality, yet the man appeared to be very alive, a polar opposite of the woman that lay in a half-obscured pool of her own blood. They were in what looked like a department store; an assortment of food products lined shelves along the display and at the front end, where the man knelt, lay an open cash register that was stripped bare. I frowned, unable to discern anything more and moved to the next display, followed closely by the stranger.

The fourth and final display showed a man and little girl, both dressed in rags, lying on a park bench. Whether sleeping or dead, their conditions were awful; an array of discarded items of clothing and material were forced together into a flimsy patchwork blanket, a hat sitting on the floor with a few coins mockingly sitting in its base. I recognized their faces, though both dirtied and greatly malnourished. I rushed back to the first display, the stranger striding after me uncertainly as I looked once more at the photographs. The father and daughter in each photograph shared the same faces as those in the last display. I walked back and forth several times to check, each time blocking out the more disturbing aspects of each of the enclosures. I was sure of it, they were the same people. That meant they were of the same family. I wasn't sure where the murdered women or graduated man fitted into the story but the woman, man and daughter were a family. I sighed, offering a meagre sort of half-serious apology in my own head before walking away, unsure of how to react. I walked towards the strange end of the corridor, the displays ceasing to fill the walls and allowing the red fabric to line them instead. On nearing the box in which the figure sat, I came across a red rope that stretched across the corridor between two gold-tipped posts. It was a cordon, on which hung a sign:

_In the beginning people had nothing,_

_Their bodies ached and their hearts held nothing but hatred._

_They fought endlessly but death never came_

_They despaired, stuck in the eternal quagmire_

I raised an eyebrow, turning to the stranger who stood beside me in a silent query. He wasn't looking at me, however, and instead stared at the box. I followed his gaze and saw a figure slouched in the corner, whimpering to himself. A voice came as I looked up, to a side of the box that was obscured by the walls:

"Your penance shows nothing... nothing but your own willingness to spout meaningless promises in the face of your own rebuttal. You have learned nothing." The voice was low, steady and cold. The man inside the box growled, standing and throwing himself against the glass, shouting:

"What do you know? Huh? You're nothing! You don't know shit!" He threw himself away from the box, falling against the side that faced us. "You! Help! P-please! Help me!" Through the dirt and injury, I recognized him. He was the graduated boy. His face had aged, but was of the same nature. He was the one cut from all of the photographs.

"It's him. He did all this," the stranger tilted his head to look sidelong at me as he spoke. His eyes looked fiercely emotional in the artificial light. He had been visibly affected by this, and now viewed the man in the box with an unaffected hatred. I was taken aback by the ferocity of his stare, the way it spread from his eyes and lit up his face... I shook my head. What did I care how he looked? Why did I care now, though? He turned away from me and looked back to the imprisoned man. "He deserves whatever's coming to him." I frowned, his expression still in my mind's eye while the prisoner was in my real eyes. The corridor, then, was a display of the man's crimes. It seemed he'd pulled apart his family, robbing a grocery store and doing something I hated to dwell on to the brutalized woman. His mother had killed herself and his father and sister had been forced onto the streets as a result. I felt a similar sort of hatred towards him, but fought against allowing it to consume me. I didn't believe in pure evil and always tried to find some sort of forgiveness over retribution.

"I know all about you. You've told me all you have to tell and now all your crimes are laid out before you. Do you really think this would go unpunished?" Came the cold voice again, the owner of it now stepping out into view in front of the box. He was tall, at least seven feet or so. He wore a long, black coat and jeans. I was expecting a sort of robe, coming from such a voice. His hair was black, too, and stuck up. If anything he looked like a member of a biker gang. He gestured flamboyantly to the corridors around him and rested his hands on something before him. "See this? This is what decides your fate." He made to interact with whatever was in front of him, causing the prisoner to jump back to the sides of the box and shout:

"No! No! Please, I'm begging you. I'll do anything! I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... I didn't... didn't mean..." He broke down into mindless whimpering before the threat under the hands of the casually dressed man outside the box. I looked up at the stranger;

"What's..."

"I don't know," he interrupted with his voice hushed, seemingly in awe rather than fear. "Looked like two buttons or something." Two buttons? What did they do? The man outside the box, who I now know was a judge, jury and executioner, spoke out after a short pause filled only with the prisoner's whimpers:

"Then it's settled." He reached out his right hand, the prisoner's eyes lighting up at the same moment.

"Thank you! Thank you! Th-" The judge cut him off mid-sentence, pulling his left arm back and being answered by a grinding of something mechanical behind the scenes. The floor that the prisoner stood on moved out from under him, a metallic grinding following it, accompanied by his pained screams. Blood flew up to coat the walls of the box, the prisoner's screaming being drowned out by the screeching of metal and the resulting sputtering as it worked to keep spinning against his body. The screams stopped somewhat abruptly as the doors closed again, the grinding ceasing and the executioner tutting almost dismissively.

"And why are you two in here?" His head snapped around to fix us with an angry stare. "Run along children! Or I'll grind you all up!" He laughed, maniacally, as my stranger turned, grabbing my hand and pulling me away. This time he ran faster than our flight out of Alchemilla, dragging me stumbling behind him as my head span in light of everything that happened.

We burst through the doors of the "museum" and out into the street, into the darkness and away from that place.


	4. Perdition in Infatuation

**Perdition in Infatuation**

"Not at all?"

"Not one bit."

"Why not? It's not like they ever harmed you... did they?"

"They're too small to actually harm me."

"So then why are you afraid of them?"

"I don't know." He tilted his head, breaking the eye contact we'd maintained for what felt like hours.

"It just makes no sense to me, y'know?" He said, looking back to me with a half-smile on his face.

"I suppose everybody has their own fears."

"That's not what I was talking about." He gestured around him in a manner that suggested he was speaking generally. I dropped my eyes and sighed, nodding slowly in silent agreement. It wasn't as if we still thought we were in any place we knew. We had both come to terms with the fact that, though it didn't appear too far detached from reality, it was in fact miles away from it. I was even under the impression that I was dreaming, or sharing a dream with someone else. Perhaps I'd fallen into a parallel universe where everything that I used to find comfortable was turned upside down. Every idea I speculated upon came down to this all being a dream. It was that sort of idealistic thinking that ended up being wiped from my mind completely. I''m glad it has been, but I do sometimes miss the naivety I had then when we talked. During that discussion that I felt strangely comfortable, a covered flare's unnaturally faint glow between me and the stranger. We had talked about what had happened, skirting around the edges of experiences we didn't want or need to repeat. It was clear enough that we weren't in any place that was under any sort of jurisdiction. The show we'd just been treated to was inside a building just off a main street; there was no way it could be there without anyone knowing. We'd considered that the entire town could be in on it but quickly disregarded the idea; there was no one else around whatsoever. On the same note we concluded that our attackers in Alchemilla weren't citizens of the town. That left the question of who they were, a question that we mutually decided to avoid.

I took a look around the room, seeing nothing but heavy iron supports holding up the low roof. Beyond the reaches of our faint light, there was nothing but blackness. The roof was low enough that my stranger had to stoop when he wanted to go somewhere. We were sitting, myself on a folding chair we found discarded downstairs and him on what looked like an uncomfortable pile of rubble. He had taken a small container and put a flare in, draping some torn black material over the top to make it bearable for me. I didn't even have to ask him to, he just did. I suppose I wasn't used to people going to any sort of effort for me. My head came back to its starting position, eyes meeting with the top of his scruffy hair as he sat gloomily, head down and hands clasped between his knees. I suppose we were both miserable. Like I said, I felt awfully dreamy, more so than usual. I didn't really take any of it seriously, maybe I hadn't really come to terms with what was happening. If I were to call it a trance, I would be being melodramatic, yet a trance is not far from the truth. Think of it as the state you wake up in and remain in until you stimulate your brain somehow. Perhaps, through lack of stimulation over a number of years, the state had settled in for permanent lodging inside my head.

It was only after having been dragged from the "museum" that I found myself out of breath and standing in a darkened warehouse. I don't even remember the space between, only waking up to the stranger climbing through a window, opening the locked door from inside and leading the way upstairs. He then proceeded to set up a sort of camp in the middle of the room. I had insisted that we stuck to a corner since being surrounded by darkness unnerved me; he shook his head and told me that he'd rather have escape routes than peace of mind. I hadn't persisted, only agreed with what I figured made sense before helping him to pull out a rolled-up sleeping bag from that magical rucksack of his. He had unzipped it and set it out on the floor, effectively turning it into a double duvet. Miraculously he had managed to find a neglected mattress slouching against a wall near the entrance. I had tried to help him to haul it upstairs but had a sneaking suspicion that he was only pretending I'd helped. And so a double bed was prepared, both of us wanting nothing more than to fall straight to sleep, both of us sitting back down in an awkward silence, sleeping arrangements in the forefront of our minds. That was when the discussion about my fear of spiders started, then ended with him setting me to worrying about our situation yet again.

He got up in the following silence and quietly made his way onto the bed. He lay on top of the pseudo-duvet, lifting the other side at his feet and gesturing to me. I rose from the chair, even conscious of my own gait when I walked over to him. _He doesn't have to do without a duvet if we're sleeping head to foot... _When I think back I can't help but condemn myself for being so childish about it. _Surely he knows that... then does he expect me to... _I passed the foot of the bed, lost in thought, and absently climbed under the covers on the same end of the bed as him. Through all my anxious procrastinating about it, I had done the opposite of what I wanted. It took too long for me to register what I had done, his slightly surprised expression tipping me off. "Oh! I'm sorry! I... just let me..." He laughed, quietly and deeply, putting out his arm in front of me as I started to scramble my way towards my own feet.

"It's fine. Make yourself comfortable, it's kinda crappy I know." I reluctantly lay down on my side facing him, seeing his sharp features framed by his scruffy hair and painted by the warm red glow of our only light. His eyes were looking elsewhere. A scowl spread across my face: I was angry with myself for being so stupid. I had only just processed my situation, lying in a bed with someone whose name I didn't even know. How could I possibly be having those sorts of thoughts with anyone, particularly someone I didn't even know properly? It was when I rolled over to face away from him that I sighed, my heart taking over my head again. My head was telling me that it was impossible to feel any differently when put into a bed with someone, simply by association-my heart was telling me something really quite different altogether. I sighed again, crumbling under the pressure of trying to resolve the conflicts in my world-weary head.

"It's fine" were the last words I thought I spoke before falling into a short-lived sleep.

As you would imagine, my dreams were riddled with elements of a nightmare. My brain hadn't quite caught up to recent happenings; my dreams remained relatively safe. And so I slept in relative comfort, dreams offering a welcome change to whatever sort of hell I was about to go through. I knew something was going to break that comfort, I just didn't know how soon.

I awoke to two hands, one shaking my shoulder and the other clamping itself firmly around my mouth. I emitted a noise that sounded like a muffled squeak, opening my eyes and having the darkness fade ever so slightly in the process. My stranger was pressed up against my back, so close that I could feel his shoulders moving ever so slightly. It felt like he was trying to shrug his way into a coat or something, though the hand over my mouth implied it was something slightly more sinister.

At first I had thought that it was the stranger who was scuffling around in the darkness, and began to worry when someone else was smothering me. Thankfully it was him, yet that left the question of what was making the noise. I squinted, strained and stared yet to no avail: whatever it was had decided to go about its business far away from us, in the darkness. Our little light had gone out, probably put out by the stranger. I tried to lean back, to at least tilt back my head and see him, but was greeted by a stern holding of my head. He still went silently about doing whatever he was, the scuffling going on as it had been until he stopped moving. Nothing but finishing his task had prompted him to stop moving, but it was lucky that he did—as he lay still, another source of scuffling made itself heard almost right above our heads. I felt a movement of air brush through my hair, forcing me to duck my head out of impulse just as the slap of a foot hit the mattress where my head had been moments before. I had wrenched the stranger's hand in the process, his arm and my head just inches away from the foot and its owner. Another foot slapped down beside the first, and then turned with it, something that I assumed was a toenail barely scratching my scalp. A low gurgle that came close to a smothered hiccup came from above us as something wet-sounding spattered to the floor. It was then that I sensed a strange wave of sadness come over me. To this day I still can't explain it, but I suddenly felt a bizarre mood come over me. I felt as if I ought to lay still and never move again, like it was pointless. I get the impression that it was our visitors' doing, but at the time felt myself utterly bemused. I took in a deep, silent breath and held it.

I felt my stranger move inaudibly, the sound of something sliding over fabric almost giving us away when I felt something cool and metallic slip over my arm. There was a click, painfully unsubtle in the dense silence. The thing above our heads turned, the same wet-sounding stuff spraying in fine droplets over our backs. Another gurgle erupted that mutated into a growl, one that was answered by the other thing across the room, and then footsteps.

"Cover your ears." I didn't dare to do otherwise, hands diving up to my ears and failing to help protect me against the gunshot that burst from nothingness next to my head. I got a brief glimpse of a stick-thin leg not two inches in front of my head, pink flaking skin curling out to touch my nose. I jumped back into the stranger, receiving a burn to the back of my neck courtesy of the gun's barrel. My yelp was joined by that of the creature that now had a bullet hole in its leg, my next yelp being forced from my lips when my hand was yanked away from my ear and up into the air. My stranger pulled me, ears ringing, off the mattress. I barely managed to hear the alien footsteps between our own as they changed path and began to head towards us, joining us in heading to our goal. I didn't know what our goal was until we reached it; it was a second storey window, mercifully devoid of glass. I hadn't time to stop and wonder why we weren't using the stairs, and only later found out that the stranger had blocked them off "for our own safety". Well it hadn't worked. My head spun, my ears rang and my limbs ached from their sudden jolt into action.

The stranger reached the short stretch of wall that stood at around thigh height for him and at about my waist, jumping without even a first thought into the outside air. He later told me that he "already knew there was water there," somehow I don't think that I believed him. I hesitated, thinking it idiocy to just throw myself out of the window. That hesitation almost cost me my life as I felt arms clamp firmly around my torso. I would imagine that, had I not been leaning forwards through momentum, I would have been dragged back into the warehouse and never have come out. Luckily, however, I _was _leaning forwards and I _did_ clumsily bang my shins on the low wall before tumbling awkwardly over the loose bricks and out into the early morning air.

The arms of the creature released me as I hit the light, only to allow the arms of the freezing water to take a hold of me. At first I was near enough lifeless, paralyzed by both the impact and the cold. Then I felt something take a hold of my coat and drag me from the water. My stranger pulled me onto the shore and then lay beside me, the two of us staring up into the sky, breathless. And so there we lay, yet again reeling from an obscured attack and yet again feeling at a loss as what to do. Only this time, the ache-inducing light faded from before my eyes as suddenly, without warning, my consciousness was taken from me.


End file.
